Heat to her Seat!

The English class had not started out well for Michelle. The teacher, Mr Hammond, had arrived late, just in time to see his eighteen-year-old college student throw a rolled up sheet of newspaper at her friend Rachel. He’d made the teenager go and fetch the paper and throw it in the wastepaper basket, warning her to behave herself for the rest of the class.

Even had it not been for that incident Mr Hammond might have paid special attention to Michelle’s conduct. The general opinion within the faculty was that Michelle Wainwright had gotten too big for her britches and needed to be taken down a peg or two. Michelle was a very intelligent girl, potentially the most able student in her class, but she had a short attention span and became bored very easily. Recently she had not bothered to attend much to the lessons – she mostly knew it all anyway – nor to do her homework assignments with much attention, preferring to spend time hanging out with her friends.

The lesson proceeded as normal for some time. Then Mr Hammond asked for comments on Thoreau’s experiences at Walden. Without being asked to answer by the teacher, Michelle burst out with “Well, I think it’s all a crock of shit!” Her remark led to almost the whole class being afflicted with giggles or guffaws.

Mr Hammond let the noise die away before he turned to Michelle and told her that she would be staying behind after class. The class gave its attention back to Transcendental individualism.

For the first time in quite a while Michelle felt worried about the consequences of her actions at college. Perhaps the teacher merely meant to lecture her after class. But normally, especially when Mr Hammond asked a boy to stay after class, it meant the paddle. She knew that some students, who were smiling at her and making covert gestures of a spanking, thought that was what she could expect! Michelle had never been paddled at school and hadn’t been spanked at home for over five years.

She shook her head to clear it of unrewarding speculation and decided to focus on Thoreau and Emerson for what remained of the lesson.7

The bell went.

“Class dismiss! Miss Wainwright, you remain in your place!” ordered Mr Hammond.

The other students filed out, a few looking back at Michelle with mocking or sympathetic glances.

The classroom emptied until only Mr Hammond and Michelle remained, sitting at their respective desks.

“Come out to the front, Michelle!”

Michelle gathered her books and her bag and walked out in front of the teacher’s desk.

“Michelle, you know that I never object to a student expressing his or her opinion of anything. I like to discuss ideas put forward by the class so that we can all learn together.

“But, by answering earlier in that insolent way, you disrespected me and the rest of your class. You are a clever girl, Michelle, and I know you know it. Other students in the class look up to you and may be inclined to imitate you. I cannot let your disrespect go unpunished.

“And this is not the first time, Michelle. It is by no means an isolated instance. Your behaviour has deteriorated way below what is acceptable at this college. I am going to paddle you, Michelle. I hope that the application of a little “heat to your seat” will bring home to you – to others in your class as well, but mostly to you – the importance of behaving in a civilized manner in school and of giving proper respect to others when it is due.”

Michelle listened to the speech in silence, without responding, though her hands did go behind her back after the first mention of “paddle” to hold the seat of her faded blue denim Levi jeans. The she realized what she had done and put her hands back by her sides.

Mr Hammond stood and picked up a paddle from a shelf behind his desk. He placed it, with a slight clatter, on the desk in front of Michelle. She flinched a little and stared at the wooden object. She had never really looked at a paddle before.

“Wait here, Michelle,” ordered Mr Hammond. “I am going to get a witness and will be back in a moment.” With that he walked out of the class, leaving Michelle alone with her thoughts and the paddle.

Michelle did respect Mr Hammond. He was a good teacher and a good person. She found his classes boring because he asked questions to which she had known the answers for years and because she knew he simplified things sometimes to help the other students rather than go into the complexity that she knew was necessary for a full understanding. But she also knew that she had been out of order earlier and that it was only fair that she be punished. Mr Hammond could have paddled her in front of the class, using the whole class as a witness instead of a female teacher, if he had chosen to do so. At least her humiliation would be a private one. She resolved to take the paddling as well as possible and to try to behave more responsibly in future.

She looked at the paddle that would shortly be smacking down onto the seat of her jeans. It was larger than she expected. The business end was about eighteen inches long and four inches wide. It was about half an inch thick with a long handle covered in rubber tape, evidently to improve the grip.

Michelle picked the paddle up. It felt heavier than it looked for its size – evidently it was made out of a very hard, dense wood. She winced at the thought of the sting it might produce on her tender backside.

Just then the door opened and Mr Hammond reappeared, accompanied by a female teacher. Michelle dropped the paddle and it clattered back onto the teacher’s desk. Neither Mr Hammond nor the woman teacher mentioned the incident.

Michelle blushed a bright red as she saw who the witness was to be. It was Mrs McCarthy who, apart from being her homeroom teacher, was also a very good friend of her mom’s. There was now no chance of keeping her parents from hearing about all this!

Mrs McCarthy looked at her with a sad expression on her face and Michelle realised that she agreed with Mr Hammond that she deserved to be paddled. She walked across the classroom behind Michelle to the windows at the far side. As she passed Michelle she gave her a sympathetic pat on her shoulder. Mr Hammond walked over to his desk and took his jacket off and put it over his chair. Slowly, with Michelle watching his every movement, he rolled up his right shirtsleeve and picked the paddle up. He walked around the desk to stand behind the teenage girl.

“I want you to lean forward and bend across my desk, Michelle, with your hands gripping the other side!”

Michelle obeyed, shuffling slightly nearer to the desk before leaning forward over it. As she did so her bright coloured top rode up slightly, revealing a narrow band of pink flesh and the hem of her white panties. The seat of her faded jeans tautened over her well-curved bottom.

“Legs slightly further apart!”

Teachers were instructed to make sure that students did not keep their legs too close together during a paddling, both for reasons of stability and to reduce the likelihood of nasty bruising.

Michelle did as she was told.

“Three licks, Michelle! Close your eyes or look forward at the portrait of Jefferson behind my desk. Don’t look back!”

Michelle drew a deep breath.

Mr Hammond positioned the paddle across Michelle’s jeans, gently rubbing it over them with a circular motion. He patted the paddle lightly on the girl’s bottom cheeks once, then twice as if taking aim. He put the paddle back onto the seat of Michelle’s jeans again and once again rubbed it over the taut material. The moment seemed to last an eternity for Michelle. Then in a well-practised, fluid movement the teacher drew the paddle back behind his back and swept it down and forward to smack across the lower part of the teenage girl’s bottom, slightly flicking his wrist at the last moment to increase the impact.

The English teacher had been paddling misbehaving students for many years. He knew that he didn’t need to use an excessive amount of force – that the paddle itself would do the work. And it certainly did!

“Aaahh!!”

Michelle gasped as the stinging pain hit home. From the occasional remark from other students, mostly boys, she’d gathered that the paddle stung a bit but didn’t really hurt. She now realized that she’d heard wrong! It did hurt! And that was just the first lick out of three.

She wriggled slightly in her embarrassing position over the desk and repeated “Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!” under her breath. But almost before she realised just how much that first lick had stung the second instalment had violently contacts her behind.

THWACKKK!!

It was a carbon copy of the first swat, smashing down hard across her tightly stretched jeans. But, landing on an already smarting bottom, it hurt a lot more. This time she had to express her feelings by way of a loud yelp like a puppy whose tail has been trodden upon.

“Aiyeeeee!!”

The lick forced her up onto the tips of her trainers. As she resumed her position, her whole bottom feeling as if it were on fire she realized, to her chagrin, that she had started to cry.

The teenager realized that she had only one more lick to come but, so sore was her bottom already, was almost on the point of begging Mr Hammond to stop. She expected the last lick to follow immediately, however, as the second had followed the first, and instead tried to prepare for it.

There was a longer pause this time, however, as Mr Hammond delayed the final swat and watched Michelle’s pretty bottom wriggle and weave in a vain attempt to ease the awful smarting.

Michelle wondered what had happened. Had he decided that two licks were enough? They were more than enough in her opinion! Had something happened to interrupt the punishment? She was almost on the point, despite the prohibition, of looking back to see if she could tell what was going on when Mr Hammond unleashed the final lick.

Unknown to Michelle, but familiar to many of the more disruptive students at the college, was Mr Hammond’s policy of making the last swat the hardest. It was a policy to which he adhered now.

This time he put some real effort into his swing as he brought the paddle down, twisting his body slightly as the hard wood paddle dented deeply into Michelle’s jeans. The girl’s reaction showed how effective that last lick was.

Michelle arched her back, her head shooting up and her long auburn hair flying wild. She gave vent to a full-blooded yell and stood up, her hands going to rub her sore, outraged bottom. Mr Hammond let her stand there for a moment – an eighteen-year-old girl sobbing and rubbing her paddled bottom.

“Back across the desk, Michelle. I didn’t tell you that you could stand up!”

With a heart-felt sigh, Michelle resumed her undignified position across the teacher’s desk. She felt the paddle resting on her sore bottom again for a moment. She resigned herself to extra swats.

But Mr Hammond lifted the paddle away and placed it on his desk by her side.

“Stand up, Michelle!”

Michelle stood up. Her poor bottom was throbbing and smarting as if she had been sitting on a red-hot stove. Mr Hammond passed her a couple of Kleenex tissues. She took them and wiped her eyes and tried to tidy herself up a little.

“Thank you, Mrs McCarthy, I think that’s all.”

The teacher left the classroom with an encouraging smile to Michelle.

“I’m sorry that was necessary, Michelle. That was your first paddling, wasn’t it?”

Michelle nodded silently, expressing a deep desire to herself that it would be her last one, too.

“It hurts, I know, and I didn’t enjoy hurting you. But I hope that this experience will make you realise just how seriously I and the other teachers take your behaviour. You won’t be sitting comfortably for the rest of the day, Michelle and I hope that this will make you think about what led up to your punishment and how you can improve your conduct.

“Very well. It’s recess. You’d better be going. I sincerely hope that this will be a useful lesson to you.”

Michelle picked up her bag and walked to the door. Her ass was on fire and walking seemed to make it smart more. As she walked out into the hallway she saw the group of students, nearly all boys, who had gathered outside the classroom and had obviously heard everything.

Completely mortified, Michelle walked off, stiff-legged, in the direction of the girls’ washrooms.

THE END